Plus Brillants Exploits
by VioletzeEcoFreak
Summary: A collection of oneshots. This time: "The Statute of Westminster, the beginning of the Commonwealth, and Winnie-the-Pooh."
1. Sweatvests are Girl Repellant?

Prompt: "Life vests, they protect you from drowning. Bullet-proof vests protect you from being shot. And sweater vests protect you from pretty girls."

**Canada and the Spontaneous Harem**

Canada had dressed like England for most of his life, since the Conquest had taken him from France. He didn't really have a problem with that when he was young, didn't mind the clothes England wore, so long as he didn't freeze in the winter and could strip down layers in the heat of summer.

Unfortunately, Canada's habit of dressing like England seemed to have carried on into his independence and adulthood. When he wasn't wearing a suit or his favourite red bunnyhug, he could be found in a white long-sleeved shirt and sweater vest. It wasn't the most flattering sort of clothing he could wear, not at all, but he was comfortable wearing it and that was all that mattered.

"Maaatt," America called, "we're all getting together at Superior to have a barbeque!" Leave it to America to organize a party and tell Canada at the last second, in spite of the fact they were neighbours.

"Fine," he sighed, "I'm coming." He pushed his glasses up his nose and gathered what he would no doubt need and have to lend to other nations.

Oh well, at least America knew how to throw parties like the best of them. The barbecue on the shores of Lake Superior was going astoundingly well, with not just hamburgers ending up on the grill (although they admittedly dominated the space later on) and forms of amusement for numerous nations.

Things did get a little messy later in the evening, though. Prussia, drunk out of his mind and having the time of his life, got France to help him throw Austria into the lake. Hungary was quick to get both herself and Prussia into the water soon after, Prussia in revenge and herself in order to make the most of a bad situation. America seemed to think it was a good idea to throw other nations into the lake as well. He targeted Canada, who was having harmless fun with a few of the Asian nations who'd come along.

Hoisting Canada over his shoulder was easy. The twin kicked and fussed and generally made it hard for America to keep his grip, but was unable to wriggle away in time. America tossed him nearly sixty feet in and grinned broadly at his handiwork.

"_Mon Dieu, _you drowned Mathieu!" France accused, pointing a horrified finger at America and not seeing the disturbances on the surface of the water.

"Matt can swim fine," America replied easily, leaning forward to watch the vague shape under the surface draw closer and closer. The figure burst through the surface with a gasp.

"Do that again and I'll annex you," Canada told America as he walked back onto the shore. He looked soaked through and frustrated, but not especially drowned. Biting his lip angrily, the young man began to strip down as he made his way to the bonfire, already blazing. When his sweater vest came off he caught the attention of Seychelles, who had previously been talking as best as she could with Spain. When the shirt came off, too, the other female nations and a few male nations took notice. Canada had lived most of his life in the wilderness, and it showed.

Belgium slunk next to Canada and began asking him about what he thought about the hockey game that had been playing the night previous. Ukraine sat at his other side, blushing furiously and not looking at him at all (except when she snuck glances and turned even redder). Seychelles draped herself over his broad shoulders and set her head next to his. Taiwan pouted, sitting next to Belgium and not getting any attention at all.

Canada was turning redder and redder as he grew more and more certain that four of the eight female nations at the party were presently flirting or hoping to flirt with him. Oh dear. America was greatly amused.

"Huh," England said, watching his son get very stiff as the four girls got right up against him. Ukraine's hands had somehow ended up on his lap and she hadn't quite noticed yet. Canada had, though.

"What is it?" America asked, looking down at the other nation.

"Life vests, they protect you from drowning. Bullet-proof vests protect you from being shot. And sweater vests…"

"And sweater vests protect you from pretty girls," France said, draping an arm across England's shoulder and grinning broadly. "Isn't that right, _mon amie_?" At which point England told France to shut up and America took the moment to try and find his camera.

----

A/N: Hardly a historical exploit, I know, but it seems like an appropriate name for a Canada-heavy oneshot collection.

Being silly can be fun sometimes~

Oh, I really don't mean to whine or anything, I really don't, but if you haven't checked out _Who Has Seen the Wind_ yet and you're not morally opposed to a man and woman having sex, maybe you want to check it out? I actually really like it, for the prose aspect. My sex ain't that hot yet, unfortunately.


	2. Boobhugs and Flowers

Prompt: A female nation giving someone (like Sealand) a boob hug.

----

When the Commonwealth of Nations met up for a meeting in the United Kingdom, an old, familiar housing arrangement was followed. Most Nations found their own dwellings, but a few lucky ones stayed in England's guestrooms, on couches, and living room floors. Canada was always lucky enough to get a guestroom, the one she'd stayed in when she'd been a colony. (As one of the two girls who stayed in England's house, she was always treated very cordially.) The others who stayed in that house, besides England, of course, were Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, India, and Sealand. (Although Pakistan had taken to bunking on the floor with New Zealand, he was presently suspended and could not join them.)

While these Nations, plus America, who was gate crashing, ate breakfast in England's kitchen, Canada swooped down the stairs holding a rose and lily, tied together with a red ribbon.

Now, something must be said about Canada's appearance and sleeping wear. The Nation was a pretty one, long-haired and bright-eyed with rounded glasses, but to many (male) people her crowning glory was the Rocky Mountains. That is, her boobs. She was almost as big as, if not equal to, Ukraine, she simply usually hid it under a bright red bunnyhug or clothes that were unflatteringly baggy. However, the young woman preferred to sleep in cotton boxer shorts and tank tops, usually ones that covered her up only just enough for poor, modest England's tastes.

And it was wearing those sleeping clothes that she swept into the kitchen, to the surprise of all the Nations gathered there.

"Who left these in my room?" she asked cheerfully, holding up the rose and lily for them to see.

"I did," Sealand said proudly. At which point Canada pulled him in for a tight hug. And it should be noted that height differences lead to the not-quite-Nation's face pressed into the Rocky Mountains. The small boy was quite pleased by the development, even more so when it became clear the room was buzzing with jealousy. India rolled her eyes and went back to smearing marmalade on her toast.

"I delivered them just like I said I would!" he said loudly, once he was free of the smothering, but not unpleasant, embrace.

"You delivered them? Then who told you to give them to me?" Canada asked staring down at Sealand. Immediately five voices came up, all proclaiming they had. Canada and India shared a quick look and sigh. Typical.

"Shut up!" America shouted, standing, "I gave Cousin Marie the flowers, obviously!"

"Liar! I had Sealand give her the flowers!" Australia stood and shouted back, a hand curling into a fist. The boys stood and shouted, and Canada regarded the scene with her mildly irritated expression. Quickly, she went over why each of the Nations would've given her the flowers.

America, who she referred to as her cousin, had always been somewhat lecherous when it came to her. Over time charm had wormed its way into his actions, but at his core he was a charming lech, and nothing more. As far as she could tell, he was not above claiming he'd sent the flowers, although she was pretty certain he would not have been able to understand the significance of the rose and lily enough have chosen them.

She hardly talked to South Africa beyond discussions within the Commonwealth and occasionally getting cricket advice from him, but since his abolishment of apartheid he'd been doing his best to improve his foreign relations. And since she'd been one of the Nations who'd been against him returning while apartheid was still a policy, the flowers could've been a gesture of friendship. But it seemed too personal. If he was trying for a gesture of friendship he probably would've initiated a purely political bilateral relationship first and invited her to his and India's latest cricket tournament, not left the flowers on her pillow.

She almost immediately ruled out Australia. Their relationship was friendly but very much a rollercoaster ride, and Australia had never once expressed in interest in Canada beyond the purely political. (Not to mention he was not really one for flowers. At all.) His older twin brother, however, was very close to Canada and she valued her friendship with New Zealand. Yes, he could've sent Sealand to leave the flowers for her. They were definitely close enough for that.

Of course, England was standing and fighting as well, shouting at the top of his lungs, mostly at America. Canada knew there was a distinct possibility of him sending Sealand as well. He would likely have known the significance of the lily and rose, as well. Of course, it seemed a little out of character for him, but England prone to gift-giving when he liked someone, and this was as good a gift as any.

"M'kay, so when you guys are finished arguing about who gets to touch my boobs next, let me know," Canada said dryly, turning to leave the kitchen.

"_Je me souviens, que né sous le lys, je croîs sous la rose,_" someone suddenly recited with a poor French accent. Canada froze and turned around. England stood there, flush-faced and half-angry looking.

"Come again?" Canada said mildly.

"_Je me souviens,"_ he repeated in his lousy French accent. Canada smiled.

"Thank you for the flowers, Arthur, they're lovely." This time she did leave the kitchen, with a bit more of a spring in her step.

Sealand smirked. "I'm the only one who got a hug," he taunted. America was quick to hold the boy upside down by his ankles and shake him until he begged for mercy.

"You speak French?" Australia asked England.

"…That doesn't leave this room."

----

A/N: Fem!Canada is my guilty pleasure. Fem!Canada/England is my super guilty pleasure.

Actually, this has a few references you might not get unless you live in the area, so for you:

Skippable historical notes:  
-Pakistan is no longer suspended in the Commonwealth of Nations, but this is set a few years ago.  
-A lot of Canadian political cartoons featured a young "Miss Canada" and her lecherous "Cousin Johnathan". As a result I sort of picked up the headcanon of fem!Canada and America being cousins.  
-Canada really was super against South Africa re-joining the Commonwealth while the policy of apartheid (segregation of race as a government policy), and then South Africa got rid of the policy and has spent a considerable amount of time making up to other countries.  
-And yes, South Africa and India really do regularly have cricket matches. _Seriously_. It's awesome.  
-New Zealand and Canada are kinda like the neglected baby brothers of the world, even if my headcanon dictates that New Zealand is actually the older one. (Ohsnap, must resist urge to write fem!Canada/New Zealand...)  
-That French translates into, "I remember, that born under the lily, I grew under the rose." It's Quebec's motto. Lily = France, rose = England.

Thank you so much for reading! (And reviewing, if you do so.)


	3. Dancing with a Supposed Socialist

Prompt: Fem!Canada dancing with a Northern nation in an ice palace.

----

It was 1956, in Montreal, and Canada was surprised that France still had it in him to whine about the cold.

"It is just as horrible now as it was back when you were a colony, _ma chérie_," he said, but with a smile that clear said it wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. "I do not understand how you can possibly wear that dress."

"It's not really that bad, Papa, and if you talk like that any more someone will throw you in the dungeon again," Canada replied, tugging a little self-consciously at her long white sleeves. The dress was as white as the snow they were celebrating, and long-sleeved for the weather.

"You wouldn't let that happen to me, would you, _mon petit chou_?"

"No promises," Canada said dryly, although her lips quirked up and her eyes glittered impishly. France chuckled.

"You look lovely, Marie. I envy the man that will one day win your heart," he said, his voice suddenly softening.

"I wouldn't worry about that now, Papa," Canada laughed. The sound of a throat clearing caught her attention. England was standing there, offering his hand to her. Placing a quick kiss on her Papa's cheek, Canada took her father's hand and let him lead her into an easy dance.

Canada bit her lip and stayed silent as England tried to get used to dancing on the snow floor. At least it wasn't ice.

As they dodged a stationary couple England said, "Thank you for inviting me. It's bloody freezing, but it's been a fairly enjoyable time."

"No, I should be thanking _you_ for coming," Canada replied. "I wasn't sure you'd want to, being in Quebec and all." She flushed at the surprised expression that crossed her father's face.

"I'd come even if you held this in those godforsaken Arctic islands you bought from me, Marie. What sort of father would I be otherwise?" He released one of her hands he was holding and guided her into a twirl. Before he could catch her hand again, however, someone else had caught it and pressed a kiss to the back.

"Hey, old man, it's my turn," America said with a devious smile. His grin turned charming when he faced Canada. "Care to dance, Cousin Marie?" he asked.

"If I must," she replied with a weary sigh. England took the chance to kiss the back of her other hand and let her go, frowning at America the whole time. Canada set her freed hand on America's shoulder.

"Your lack of enthusiasm is weird," America said. "You should be happy to be dancing with a hero."

"When I find myself dancing with one, I will remember that," Canada replied with a smile. America winced.

"You're so mean," he complained, pulling his cousin closer and winding her arm further around her waist.

"And you, Cousin Alfred, are a charming, handsome lech," she replied with a blithe smile. America couldn't let Canada and her passive-aggressive tactics win, though, so he laughed at the accusation.

"I wouldn't be thinking of annexation as much as I do if you weren't so pretty."

"Well, when you decide to become Canadian territory, let me know. Your privatized health care will be the first thing to go." Canada took control of their dance and swung them towards the table where England and France were bickering.

"Cousin Marie, I would never allow myself to be annexed, let alone by a socialist, no matter how pretty she might be," America replied. He took control of their direction again and swept them elsewhere. He laughed at Canada's frown and yearning glance towards the table where her fathers were eating, still quarrelling.

"I don't know," she added a moment after, "you seem pretty willing to get close to supposed 'socialists'." A look of alarm crossed her face, followed by a dark frown. "If your hand goes any lower than that, so help me I will take New York again." America's hand stopped its descent and went back up to an appropriate height. Canada could swear she heard a bark of laughter from England. No doubt her father approved of her tactics for keeping America's hands to himself. Two hundred plus years of keeping him and his harassment (and occasional marriage proposals) away had given her plenty of practice.

When the song ended Canada escaped her cousin by threatening to cut off all softwood lumber trade (she never would do it, but America rarely, if ever, called her bluffs) she went to try and find England and France and food. Yes, food sounded especially good.

At the table loaded down with food Canada found Norway, watching the dancing with a particularly bored expression. Canada found herself a snack and stood next to Norway. Soon enough the pair was doing a snarky running commentary of the dancing.

"You're almost as fun as Romano!" Canada laughed good-naturedly. "Next time I'll invite him, too." Norway smirked into his drink.

At which point, Denmark burst into the scene.

"_Norge_, no keeping the lady to yourself," he scolded. "I would like to dance with Miss Canada."

"Won't _you_ be keeping her to yourself then?" Norway asked in a low voice. Canada hid her chuckle and Denmark ignored him as he exuberantly brought Canada back onto the dance floor.

"Great party," he said brightly, spinning Canada around once, twice, three times.

"Thank you," Canada replied, trying to catch her balance again.

"And this is a nice ice palace," he said absently, looking up to admire what must have been a lot of work. His hold on Canada was loose and surprisingly gentle. He sighed wistfully and looked down at the young woman. "You could've been our baby girl instead." He brought Canada into another spin, and when she was finished she gripped Denmark's shoulder tightly, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

"Oh well." Denmark brightened visibly. "You should dance with _Island_." He stopped moving and scanned the room for the young nation. Iceland was actually sitting nearby, sipping absently at a flute of champagne.

"C'mover here, _Island_!" he shouted. Iceland obediently stopped sipping and went over to Denmark and Canada, unamused. "Your turn," Denmark said, letting go of Canada and pushing Iceland to take her hand and waist instead.

"Okay," Iceland said blandly, taking Canada uncertainly and letting her lead him into a dance. She disliked the feeling of being handed off like that.

"Do you actually want to dance?" she asked dryly, watching Iceland stare at his feet.

"Not really."

"Can I go sit with my family instead?"

"Sure." Iceland let go of Canada, something like relief crossing his features, and made a beeline for Norway and the snacks. Canada went in the opposite direction, where America and England were debating loudly, France sitting and watching in amusement.

Canada was so intent on reaching that table she tripped over someone's foot as they also walked distractedly. With a yelp she and the stranger who had tripped her went down.

"I'm sorry," Canada said, wincing as she took stock of what exactly hurt. "I wasn't looking where I was going." The stranger she had landed on was actually Finland, who smiled lightly from under her.

"I should be the one who's sorry," he replied, helping Canada got off him. "I was just looking for Berwald and…" Canada cut him off with a sharp wince.

"Damn it," she muttered, "I think I hurt my ankle."

"O-Oh dear!" Finland knelt next to her and looked at the injured foot. "Do you think you can stand?"

"Don't think so. Not without a lot of pain, at least." The irony was not lost on Canada. One of the most ferocious female soldiers to come out of two world wars could not handle a twisted ankle.

Someone came in front of the two of them, his back turned to them and his hands outstretched behind him. Sweden was offering Canada a piggyback. She took it gratefully, resting her cheek on Sweden's broad back.

"H're y'go," Sweden mumbled as he set Canada down on the table.

"Thank you very much," Canada replied, shuffling to get off the table before America made a lewd comment and a war erupted around her.

Sweden managed something as close to a smile as he could get and went off to find his wife.

"Do you need anything?" England asked, looking down at Canada's foot.

"I'll go get some ice," America added cheerfully.

"I think Baffin Island has enough ice on its own, thank you," Canada said dryly. America looked appropriately baffled.

----

A/N: Clearly, I enjoy gender-bending Canada far too much.

Skippable if you don't need to know about my historical references/things I did that may need explainations.

-1956 was the second official Carnival de Québec, and it took place between January 29 to February 14.  
-Canada's winters in the colonial days sucked. A lot.  
-If you didn't have the right spirit for a Carnival (like France while he's whining) you were thrown into the ice palace dungeon. This started in 1956.  
-I use the name Marie for fem!Canada because it is a very French name, was immensely popular in Canada's colonial days, and is perfectly pronouncable in English, too.  
-Canada purchased the islands in the Arctic Ocean from Great Britain, I believe. They added a lot to the coastline.  
-A lot of old propaganda with fem!Canada featured her lecherous cousin Johnathan (a precursor to Uncle Sam). I carry that sort of relationship over into this. For the lulz.  
-Back in the War of 1812, Canada/Great Britain actually captured a lot of what is now the New York state. Had the maps been redrawn after the war (which they weren't), New Yorkers would actually be Canadian.  
-I want to see a fill in which Canada, Romano, and Norway snark the hell out of everyone.  
-Norge = Norway in Danish  
-Island = Iceland in Danish  
-The first Europeans in Canadian were vikings, actually. They even had a colony, but were chased out by the natives.  
-Baffin Island being Canada's left ankle is something I made up on the spot. It is a very cold island in the north, so it would not need ice. Hahaha.  
-Thanks for reading~


	4. In the Maria and Terrae

Prompt: The Moon has a personification (or two) and experiences the LCROSS mission.

----

She and her sister have been called by many different names in their long, quiet existence. They are Luna and Diana and Selene and Maria and Terrae and Moon, but they have no concept of names and sisterhood. For them, they simply _are_. They've always been there and they believe they always will be, for they do not know how they were born and do not know how they could die.

One sister basks in the light of the sun and watches the planet she circles around and she so loves watching that place. It changes every time she sees it, and it is exquisite. The sisters do not understand names and sisterhood, but they do understand beauty.

The other sister doesn't see much of Sol, who soothes and lullabies and burns and parches them, but she hears the infinite songs of every star she can see. The sky is forever clear and the thousands of lights she can see each sing a different song. Sometimes she hears the faint drone of _kyrie eléison_ and at others she hears _revere the kind Sri Rama, who can remove the fear of rebirths_.

The sisters love and understand the celestial music as well and in their world heated by Sol and sung to by the stars they have no understanding of loneliness either.

It is in their beautiful isolation that they are visited. They always go to one sister, who opens her arms to them and makes it easy to arrive. At first the only things she welcomes are dead things made of cold metal, but then she embraces strangers who move and do strange things that fascinate her as the swirling clouds do on the planet she circles. When they leave it means as little to her as a dying star, for stars come and go and so do strangers.

She welcomes more of these strange things when they come, and when they do not she opens her arms anyways and watches them. She sees one of these dead things fly past her and her sister and retreat, and she thinks that this is going to pass her a few times and fly away. And it does swish past them once more, and then turn back towards their green-and-blue planet they so adore.

It approaches again and this time it comes straight towards the sister who is so rarely seen and met with. She invites the dead thing towards her and it comes.

It strikes the sister who does not see Sol and the impact in her ice-solid toes shakes her to her core. It does not hurt, it is too small for that, but she feels something strange and new, the sensation her flesh is coming undone where she is struck and leaves her shaken. And she feels justified in nearing the stars at the cost of leaving her planet and Sol.

----

A/N: Because I love you all/am really bored and cold (stupid snow), have my latest kink meme exploit.

Cultural/astronomical notes (my, this is new) that are entirely skippable:  
-The Moon's been called quite a few things, so I used a few of those names. Of course, the sisters have no names, but if you want to be technical one represents the maria (found mostly on the "light side" of the moon) and the other represents the terrae (the highlands that dominate the "dark side").  
-The _Kyrie_ is a Christian hymn that translates essentially into "God forgive me/us".  
-On the other hand, the other hymn is a Hindu bahja (I'm so sorry if I mispell this). I kinda wanted to use religious hymns from all over, so I figured this would work?  
-Sol is technically not the name of our sun. It's just the Sun. But Sol looks cooler. The Sun, by the way, sublimated most of the water on the Moon a long time ago, so it's sort of parching the sisters.  
-That thing that went past the Moon twice and then hit it is the LCROSS rocket. It crashed in the Moon on purpose to send dust from a crater (Cebeus A, I think) up into the air so a probe could test it for water.  
-The Moon really is retreating from the Earth. I read somewhere it's going at a rate of 4cm a year, but that sounds a little fast.  
-Thank you all for reading this exceedingly weird piece~


	5. The Commonwealth Does Some Note Passing

**Sealand and the Quest for International Recognition**

Sealand sat and crossed his arms and pouted. Not being as a real Nation was not fair, not fair at all. He had his case for existing memorised, and could even quote the old laws on international waters. There was no way he could be wrong.

It just seemed that no one wanted to acknowledge he was _right_.

Even his friend Latvia called him "Peter", not Sealand, and Saint Lucia, his best friend in the Commonwealth, didn't seem to call him by either name. This was not going to do at all. And so, bored out of his mind and not allowed to speak, Sealand pulled out some paper from England's stack, flipped it over, and began scribbling down things on the back.

_Sealand's Great List of Ways to Become a Country!_

The list was woefully empty. He'd already tried "Get other Nations to acknowledge me!" multiple times, and the strategy was failing magnificently. Not even his best friend or his mama and papa called him a Nation. So he'd just have to find out other ways of becoming a Nation. Tearing off a piece of paper he scribbled his question, folded it up, and had it passed down to the table to the intended recipient, Saint Lucia.

She read and re-read the question at least three times and Sealand shifted uneasily. She had to be less obvious or that jerk on his right would catch her. However, she ducked her head and began writing back an answer. It took a lot longer than expected. However, she folded the note again and had it passed along the table to the waiting receiver. Her handwriting was smaller and tidier than Sealand's, and he struggled to read the light, curvy print under the table.

"_England gave me more and more political freedoms starting in the nineteenth century, and I joined federations with my neighbours in the Caribbean. Eventually he gave me complete control of all my internal affairs, and on February 22, 1979 he gave me complete control of my external affairs and defence responsibilities as well. __Now__ will you remember my birthday?"_

Making a mental note to write down Saint Lucia's birthday on his calendar when he got home, Sealand wrote down his first option on his great list of ways to become a country.

_-Just wait until that jerk gives it to me._

However, Sealand was pretty sure he didn't want to have to wait for that jerk to just acknowledge him. He'd been waiting since after the second world war! He hardly wanted to wait _more_.

How about India? Everyone had made a huge fuss when she left the jerk. Of course, India still scared him a little, but he wasn't going to let that make him back down. He tore off another piece of his paper and wrote a note to India. Once again he had it passed down to her, and when India received it she looked straight at Sealand and raised one expressive eyebrow. He tried to raise one of his own prominent eyebrows, but could not master the movement. However, she turned to the paper again and began writing. It took her even longer than Saint Lucia to write down her answer. So long, in fact, he was surprised when Cyprus handed him the note. It was completely covered by writing on all sides, and it was _tiny_. Sealand tried to read it, but the tiny print seemed to be covering the complete history of India's independence movement. Only the last line was even moderately helpful.

_Why am I even bothering? To answer the question in a way you'll understand, I had a lot of violent and non-violent movements that no one can agree about how they affected me, and even after my independence there was plenty of violence. I've since become a republic._

After considering it for a few moments, Sealand wrote down his second option on his list.

_-Have violent and non-violent revolutions and get independence that way._

However, Sealand's navy was hardly strong enough to fight back the might of the United Kingdom. It was always an option, but it didn't seem like one that would work for him. Scanning the room, Sealand miraculously noticed Canada, and realised this was exactly the person to ask. Canada hadn't rebelled to get his independence either, right? The guy must've been awful sneaky in order to get his independence without so much as a fight and get away with so much land.

Canada's returning answer was in large, even print that wasn't in cursive. It was also mercifully short in comparison to India's.

_I got my independence from England three times, each time getting more autonomy. The British North America Acts in 1867 gave me my Confederation, that's when my birthday is, the Statute of Westminster in 1931 meant I was equal to England when it came to legislation, with a few exceptions, and the Canada Act in 1982 completely severed my ties to England. It was a long wait, but worth it._

_And Sealand, two things. One, there were a lot of reasons I became a Confederation, a lot of which involved trade and the threat of war with America, so don't get your hopes up. And two, I _did_ have a violent rebellion, which failed._

Okay, so Canada's answer was a lot like Saint Lucia's, but with an even longer wait. But the last bit was interesting. Confusingly, Canada got into a tight spot and ended up getting his independence from it. Sealand wasn't sure how it worked, and decided it was because the jerk was a complete fool, letting colonies leave because they were danger.

_-Get into trouble so that jerk will let me go._

At which point said jerk ended the meeting and Nations began standing and leaving. Nauru trotted up to Sealand and wheezed a little. "If someone as little as me can be independent," he said breathlessly, "you can, too."

"Thanks!" Sealand said brightly. Then he paused. "How did you know about that?"

"I, er, read the note you gave Saint Lucia," he admitted sheepishly.

"Okay, you, time to go," Australia said, heaving Nauru under his arm with a loud noise of exertion.

"Bye, Sealand!" Nauru shouted back, waving frantically. Sealand waved back and smiled.

----

A/N: Sort of a sequel to _Family Reunion_, I guess? Don't be fooled, Sealand's not the only one passing notes during the meeting. Little do you know, Australia and Fiji are flirting under the table between their attempts to prove they're the stronger one. (I have no idea if that is accurate or not, but I insist that they have one night stands sometimes.)

Oh, and at the risk of sounding self-promoting, I have a poll on my user now where you can demand I write more, and of what. Inlcuding finally getting up a chapter of True North and Maple Leaves.

Thank you for reading~


	6. Just a Little Experimental

Prompt: America and Canada watch the joint Windsor-Detroit fireworks together.

----

It's late June, so close to the Canada-US border that it's sometimes fuzzy which side is which. There's a blanket on the ground and a cooler sitting on it, and lying on the blanket is Matthew and Alfred smiles and thinks that watching the fireworks celebrating your birthday is much better with someone you love. It's even better when that someone's birthday is also being celebrated.

"Coke?" Alfred offers, going through the cooler and trying to see if Matthew's stowed any beer. None this time, which is a shame because drinking contests always end very well. (Matthew always wins, you see.)

Matthew nods gratefully and takes the cold can from his brother, opening and then holding it an arm's length away as it fizzes and overflows. The fizz ends up on the blanket and he frowns a little.

"Don't shake it, Al," Matthew says in annoyance, looking at his brother and rolling his eyes even as Alfred shakes his own can.

"Why not?" he asks. But he still stops the shaking and opens the can. He does it much more slowly, and the gas escapes without much mess. Matthew makes a face and looks away, sipping from his own can as he does so. He's not as fond of the drink as Alfred, but it's hot out and they've already spent a long day in the Windsor midway.

The announcement that the fireworks are about to begin elicits a pleased smile from Matthew and a whoop of joy from Alfred, who immediately settles down to lean against his brother. For once he is not wearing his bright red bunnyhug, which is nice to the touch and suits the Canadian well but just too hot for the weather, and instead has on a white t-shirt. It has a pattern on it that resembles the Canadian uniforms from the Beijing Olympics, the maple leaf at the bottom a familiar emblem past the stylized eights and bold splashes of red and gold. It is just as patriotic as the bunnyhug, and Alfred wonders why people don't mock his brother more often for his own usage of the red maple.

Matthew leans against Alfred in turn and lets their bare arms touch just a little. It is still much too warm out for his comfort, but a little physical contact never hurt anyone (except maybe Arthur, who is still recovering from Alfred's last over-enthusiastic hug) and Alfred seems pleased that Matthew is touching because of his whims and whimsies, not because of the American's requests.

Then their fingers entwine and it doesn't matter that they've been fighting as often as any European does, just in a smaller way, that they still have very faint matching burns on their collarbones, put there by each other, and that Americans and Canadians still don't really like each other. Because fireworks are exploding and the first boom makes Canada flinch, just a little, and the lights that illuminate their faces are all in honour of one thing. The fact the two nations had been born.

"Matt?" Alfred says softly, squeezing his brother's fingers just a little. Matthew turns to Alfred and gets a face full of bright smile and can hear Alfred bidding him a very happy birthday. He turns back to watch an especially large burst of light, the reverberating "crack" sending a shock through their bodies, but Alfred hears the "happy birthday" that his twin has muttered back. Alfred smiles and nudges his brother, and he nudges right back. The fireworks continue to explode.

----

A/N: You can probably tell I was still experiemnting with ships when I wrote this. I have since jumped off the America/Canada bandwagon entirely. I think the story _Accept the Things I Cannot Change_ (which is really good, by the way) was what wrapped up any curiosity I had with that ship.

Thank you for reading nonetheless~


	7. And Now Something a Little Quieter

And now for something completely different! Prompt: "But I don't love America! I love _you_!"

----

Canada was in love with England. That, in and of itself, was not a bad thing. A little sad, perhaps, but not outright bad. If anything, it made him eager to improve their foreign relations and willing to follow his former-empire when other nations were rebellious or only grudgingly obedient.

But, of course, his love had problems, hindrances. He was a free nation, he had to prove he did not carry the imperialistic sentiments of old. Australia and New Zealand stood at England's side at Suez, somewhere Canada desperately wanted to be, but _no_. He did not support either England or France in the matter, and he would not allow such an archaic, violent display in modern times. But his men still wore the Union Jack on their uniforms and Egypt wouldn't let them fight.

There was another problem. Canada's twin brother, America. Although they were strikingly different, one far too soft-spoken and ignored, the other overenthusiastic and the centre of attention, they were also very much the same. When one wanted something, it was certain the other would want it, too. The timing was often very separate, their reactions invariably marking their differences once again, but if Canada had fallen in love it was a promise that eventually America would feel the same way.

When someone was quiet, fairly passive, and regularly ignored, they learned to listen and watch like the best of them. Canada observed his fellow nations so well some suspected he was a mind-reader when he got the chance to speak to them. And, true to form, he saw America slowly soften his mocking attitude towards England. Saw America begin to turn a little red and stammer a touch when England offered him a reluctant compliment. Saw America stiffen when England gave him a pat on the back, caught like a deer in the headlights.

But America was denser than uranium and only half as useful, so he didn't seem to realise his own want for England. Good, it made Canada feel a little better about the whole mess he knew he was going to get himself into. But only a little.

----

Canada and England had a long-going tradition that whenever they met up for trade agreements or had to share a room at the World Meetings (which was surprisingly frequent, as people seemed to understand the two nations were immensely sedated around each other) Canada would prepare them a hearty Canadian breakfast. The exact contents varied based on what was on hand, but most of the time there were pancakes, thick slices of bacon, hash browns Canada spiced with curry powder (he'd grown fond of the flavour after a trip to India), the fruit of the season, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and cold milk, only sometimes from a bag. And, of course, his famous maple syrup.

England leaned over his plate to eat that final slice of pancake, slathered in the remaining maple syrup on his plate. Delicious. The former empire had never been so glad that Canada had been a French colony first.

"You're quite the cook," England declared, and though Canada had heard the compliment a hundred times before he still flushed a little and smiled.

"I'm still not as good as Papa," he replied humbly, "and my food isn't that interesting…" Canada was far too passive, but he just couldn't seem to accept the praise with a "thank you" and continue on with life.

England just smiled and licked the syrup on his lips off. It wasn't meant to be a sensual or flirtatious action at all, as far as Canada could tell, but he watched with far more fascination than was necessary as England's tongue ran over his lips and the satisfied smile that appeared at the taste of maple syrup. He flushed again and cast his eyes downwards.

The silence that sat between them was quiet and natural, like autumn leaves fluttering to the ground or a soft summer drizzle. It didn't shatter when England noisily drew his chair back, it merely retreated for a moment before sweeping back in to muffle the sound of England's socked feet against the carpeted floor of their shared hotel room.

"Thank you," he said gently, placing a hand on Canada's shoulder for a moment before heading to the sink to begin cleaning up.

"I'll help you with that," Canada said suddenly, standing and making his way towards the sink as well.

----

Canada's relationship with England had always been a quiet, familiar thing. Despite of all the tensions that had run between them at many points in Canada's history (Suez, British Columbia, negotiations with America…) it was one piece of certain stability in their lives and sometimes chaotic foreign relations. England would always be willing to brew a pot of tea and Canada was prepared to make pancakes even at three in the morning (which he'd done before, albeit for his twin).

So why had Canada insisted on disturbing the status quo by telling England that he… His throat sealed and his eyes stung in spite of himself. "I-I should tell you…" He choked, because the selfish part of him didn't want to finish his sentence. "America feels the same way." And he hated that he had that need to make things fair, because if he was selfish for once in his life maybe, just _maybe_…

Then England smiled fondly at the young man at touched his hand reassuringly. "But I don't love America." Canada's eyes flicked up to meet his. "I love _you_."

There was no dramatic kiss or sweeping embrace. The quietness that had defined Canada wouldn't allow for that. Instead he placed his hand on top of England's and smiled slowly. He'd worry about everything else, how his twin would cope (how he would cope with denying the twin he so loved the one person he wanted) later. Right now he just wanted to sit in silence like December snowfall.

----

A/N: I seriously ship this pair. I don't even- I mean, father-son, romantic, drinking buddies, I just like it when these two interact. Call it a weakness, if you will.

Also, shaky characterisations ahoy! In my defence, first time writing this pair and also done at least four months ago. If not more.

My mind was blown today. I discovered New Zealand is the most peaceful country in the world this year. Denmark is second. _Yes_.

Thank you for reading~


	8. Fishing Trips and Ex Pat Trees

Sunday afternoon get-togethers were getting rarer and rarer for Canada and America, so they treasured the ones they got. This time, they were fishing together in one of the shallower areas of Lake Superior. The border always got fuzzy for them when they were away from cities.

"I'm tellin' you, this is on my side!" America said loudly.

"But we're in Canada, I can feel it!" Canada shouted back, a little more softly. They'd given up the illusion that they were actually going to catch anything with all the noise they were making.

"Pfft, you say that but I can feel all those trees, they're mine."

"I can feel those trees as well," Canada replied, crossing his arms. America hooked one of his arms around his twin's neck and brought his other fist into his hair.

"What-- _don't_!" Canada protested helplessly as America gave him a noogie.

"You're gettin' soft, going out with Russia's sister all the time. When're you just gonna come and say that she's your girlfriend?" He laughed as Canada pulled himself free of America's admittedly loose hold.

"Katyusha's not my girlfriend," he said, crossing his arms again and looking away to hide his bright pink cheeks. "We're just good friends and close because of our school programs."

"_Right_," America replied. "Anyways, these trees are mine and I can prove it." He set down his fishing rod and strolled straight towards the first one he could reach. He pressed his hand to the bark and closed his eyes. Peace suffused his body. Canada followed and placed his hand on the opposite side.

"The tree's Canadian," Canada said softly.

"But the soil's American," his brother replied. The boys opened their eyes, looked at each other, and smiled.

Then America said, "I was right after all!" At which point a fish latched onto his rod and started dragging it towards the water.

----

A/N: Written for Nupinoop296's request for North American brofluff and noogies, along with some teasing.

If you have a request for me (preferably short) just drop me a line or ask in a review. *hinthint*

Thanks for reading~


	9. America and Belarus' Steampunk AU Fic

"Natalia!" Alfred called from the underbelly of the machine, "we have a problem!"

"There's always a problem," she replied, her monotone intonation a welcome contrast to the hissing and grinding and general chaotic noise in the room.

"No, seriously, there's a fissure here the size of the quarry!" He retreated back under the machine, wiping away his sweat. Natalia silently swung herself down from the operator's platform above all the machinery and wriggled under the machine as well. There really was a large fissure in the metal, and occasionally a spurt of steam would come out, spitting dangerously close to the pair stowed under the hulking tangle of metal pipes and gauges..

"What sort of leak is it?" Natalia asked, her hands reaching up and tracing the line without touching it.

"Standard for a machine of this make," Alfred replied. "If we don't get it fixed right away the whole pipe'll blow."

"Then you'd best get started. I will go back up and receive Arthur's delivery," Natalia said, shuffling back out from under the machine.

"But he's not here yet," Alfred protested, only to hear that familiar, crabby voice call, "Hello?" Natalia gave him something akin to a smug look and clambered back up to the worker's level. The floor was mercifully empty for the time being, all the workers already down in the mines to get more coal.

"Good afternoon, Arthur," Natalia bid, looking at the small boy standing slightly behind him. The boy hid a little more at her inexpressive gaze.

"Good afternoon," Arthur bid back, tipping his cap politely. Ever the gentleman, at the very least. He followed Natalia's line of sight to the boy standing behind him. "This is Peter, my--"

"A master metalworker!" Peter cut in, coming out from behind Arthur and puffing his chest out proudly.

"My apprentice," the older man finished, exasperated. "He is still very new to the business, you'll have to excuse him and his flights of fancy." He sent a quick, sharp glare at the boy, who retreated again. Natalia simply nodded, as unemotional as ever. "At any rate, I have the devices you ordered. Came in by zeppelin first thing this morning."

"That's good," Natalia said. "We now need to order a new pipe for the condensing chamber. Ours has a large fissure."

"Already?" Arthur looked distinctly surprised. "Bloody hell, your machine is falling apart at the seams!" He sighed. "I'll go check it out. Is Alfred already down there?"

"He's patching up the pipe right now," Natalia said. The sound of a frightened yelp cut through the noise. "Trying to stop the bursts of steam for the time being."

"I'll go see it, then. Peter, come with me." The metalworker and his apprentice went down to the mechanic level to see what problems Alfred was facing, and Natalia returned to the operator's platform in time to see a man who looked almost exactly like Alfred but most certainly wasn't wander in.

"Hello, Natalia!" Matthew called pleasantly.

"Hello, Matthew," she droned back. Matthew was pleasant enough, but Natalia had to immediately dislike him for courting her naïve elder sister.

"I brought you guys lunch," he said cheerfully. The young man, unlike his brother, had chosen to become an apprentice to an old family friend, who was a chef. Matthew's increasingly improving practices became lunch for Alfred and Natalia and occasionally Ivan, who owned the mine and liked to visit.

"Lunch?" Alfred called, his head popping out from under the machine.

"Don't get distracted until you've finished!" Arthur shouted back, still under the machine. Alfred reluctantly went under again.

"I'll hold on to it until we can eat together," Natalia promised, taking the bag from Matthew and giving him a once over. "You're seeing my sister tonight, correct?"

"Uh, y-yes?" Matthew said, back going ramrod straight. Natalia smirked inwardly, she had him completely intimidated.

"I will act as an escort for part of the evening, along with my brother." Matthew blanched but nodded.

"I-It'll be fun," he said, as if trying to convince himself. As he retreated Natalia could hear him mutter, "How can Al survive her?" This time she did smirk.

"Y'know, teasing my brother like that isn't nice," Alfred said, wrapping his arms around Natalia's shoulders from behind. He set his head atop hers comfortably. "Your brother and sister didn't give me a bad time at all."

"I can take care of myself," Natalia reasoned. "Katyusha is still too innocent to be courted without chaperones."

"I think you're being an over-protective family," Alfred replied, smiling a little as Natalia stepped back a little to lean on him.

"Ewwww!" Peter shouted, ruining the moment.

"Don't be a child, Peter," Arthur scolded loudly, coming out from under the machine and wiping away a sheen of sweat from his forehead. He turned to Alfred. "It's going to cost you, but I can get the part in by zeppelin in a few days, before the pipe fissure reopens."

"That works for me," Alfred replied, letting go of Natalia. "Ivan said he wanted to do a full replacement of this someday, anyways." She saw the bag on the operator's platform. "Can we have lunch now?" he asked.

"If you'd like," Natalia said in reply. Alfred nodded vigorously and invited Arthur and Peter to try some of Matthew's cooking as well. Both were pleasantly surprised by the results.

"I loathe to admit it, but perhaps it was for the best that Matthew ended his apprenticeship with me," Arthur murmured, trying a chunk of white bread that had been dipped in some unidentifiable soup. "His cooking has improved far more quickly than his metalworking ever did."

"His food is edible now, at least," Alfred said brightly. "When he was your apprentice his cooking sucked almost as bad as yours!" He laughed as Arthur shouted back indignantly. Roderich running into the room cut their laughter short.

"Fire's broken out on the upper levels!" he shouted. "We have to close the fire doors immediately!" Alfred and Arthur were on their feet immediately, and the three men got to the large wooden wheel connected to the doors. They began turning it slowly, trying to force the large doors, wooden and painted over with plenty of fire retardant, closed before the fire could reach the steam engine. Any excessive heat could cause the entire thing to explode. Natalia and Peter got to their feet and joined the men at the wheel. The fire drew nearer.

The doors closed with a low, echoing boom. They drooped and relaxed and watched the large doors for a moment. The room felt warmer already, but the ventilation shafts were doing their job and bringing in cooler air from up top.

The five settled in to wait.

----

A/N: Yet another rare pair I've gotten interested in. Also, I've wanted to write steampunk forever. I hope to add on to this little 'verse if possible.

Thank you for reading~


	10. Let's have some more quiet moments, yes?

Prompt: Latvia and Canada interact

----

_September 4__th__, 1991_

Latvia was thankful to have such a good friend in North America. As he sat alone in Canada's guest room, the lights out, he considered Canada's fiery expression as he denied the Soviet occupation of the Baltics, all of them, over and over and over again. And while he'd semi-recognised Latvia was nothing better than Russia's possession, he acknowledged the Nation in meetings and made sure to ask his opinion on matters.

It had been a confusing and painful fifty years, but it was finally _over._ Nations across the globe were re-establishing foreign relations in full with him and his brothers, including Canada. America, too, although America seemed to like to dote on him rather than treat him as a friend.

He watched the raining falling outside in Ottawa in silence, hardly noticing that his habitual trembling had started again. And then something heavy and warm fell on his shoulders. A blanket.

"Thank you," Latvia mumbled in his clumsy English.

"No trouble," Canada replied easily, letting his hands linger on Latvia's shoulders. The smaller Nation leaned against the larger. The thank you was meant to be for everything, all the support and the friendliness and his insistence that Latvia was sovereign. But for now he let Canada think it was just for the warmth of the blanket. His eyes slowly drooped closed, lulled to sleep by the rain and warmth and Canada's breathing.


	11. Lack of context and a lot of fluff ahead

Northern Saskatchewan was no place for a child to be born, and Canada knew that. But he also knew that there was little chance of them making back south before the snow fell, a mistake on his part, and so they had been trapped in a small village all winter. It was not as though they were really in any sort of danger, the community had adopted them quite willing and made sure both Ukraine and her baby were quite healthy and as happy as possible, considering where they were.

One family with an extra room in their home (a son of theirs had recently left their home, to find his fortune in a city to the south) had given them a place to stay. Whether it was because they were naturally hospitable or because they were born-in-Canada Ukrainians was unknown to the pair of nations, but they were grateful either way.

Their room was not especially warm at night, despite the careful precautions to keep the cold out and the only consolation was the layers of blankets that covered the small bed. And it was quite small. Perhaps a single young man would find it comfortably large, but two adults, one of them quite pregnant, was simply too much.

Not that Ukraine minded too much. She liked being pressed up against Canada, her back to his front, one of his hands resting on the swell of her stomach. It was a comfort to have him so close, especially when blizzards howled and the bed seemed particularly cold.

It was the distinctive chill of Canada's lack of presence that awoke her. She turned over, tried to see if the door was open in the absolute darkness of the winter midnight. The soft noise of footsteps told her it was, and that Canada was re-entering their room.

"Katyusha," he whispered gently, "are you awake?"

"Yes," she mumbled back, trying to hold her eyes open.

"There's something you should see," he told her, as quiet as ever. "Come out of bed, I'll get your winter clothes." Now that she was used to the blackness of the room it didn't seem quite so dark to Ukraine anymore, and she could see Canada's outline in the doorway. It looked like he was dressed in his heavy coat and wore his highest boots over his flannel nightclothes.

Ukraine stood slowly, one hand on her belly and the other at her back. When she was up on her feet she made her way awkwardly to the front door. The whole house was uncomfortably cold, despite the stove in the kitchen still burning. Canada met her at halfway and helped her into her coat and boots and wrapped an afghan around her for good measure.

"It's cold," he warned, his eyes bright behind his glasses. He took her hands in his and brought her outside. The cold was fantastic, immediately stinging at her bare legs and nose and eyelashes. A little snow fluttered down despite the clearness of the sky. It was soft and powdery and finer than sand, and it settled against the afghan and Canada's coat and ended up in the hair of both of them.

They shuffled forward a few steps together and then Canada told her to turn around. As she obeyed Ukraine felt all the breath leave her lungs.

She'd seen the aurora borealis before, a beautiful slow-swaying curtain the colour of new grass, but _brighter_. When she had lived with her brother, sometimes the aurora came with General Winter, as if it were a consolation for the cold and death he normally brought. But never before had she seen the colours so alive. They did not just sway and flutter, they danced. There was green, of course, fresh and bright and so unlike the normal colours of winter. It hung high and low and all over the sky, so bright at the horizon it looked like a sunrise. And there was crimson, such a stark contrast it was startling. It flickered like a flame, appearing at the edges of the green curtain, only to disappear and reappear elsewhere. And highest of all, the deep, regal violet. It stood steady, only moving and swaying the slightest amount.

All at once Ukraine felt overwhelmed, and turned away from the striking, strange beauty in the sky to look at Canada. He watched the colours dance and sway unflinchingly, his breath coming from his mouth in thick clouds. The green and red and purple danced and shimmered in his eyes. He was both entranced by the sky above him and entrancing to Ukraine.

Slowly, she looked away from Canada to look at the aurora again. The child within her jumped a little as she stared, gave her the slightest kick. It seemed to sense the magic in the night air, seemed to want to be part of it. To her, it made sense. The child was conceived on this land, under this beautiful sky. She could not help but feel that the child would be born on this land as well.

Canada wrapped one arm around her waist and turned to face her. Ukraine smiled up at him, set her hand over his at her side. He kissed that smile with cold, snow-frozen lips quickly and then made a silly little grimace.

"It's getting a little cold, isn't it?" he muttered, pressing his cool forehead to hers nonetheless.

"Just a little," Ukraine couldn't help but tease, trying and failing to lean against Canada. Her belly was beginning to get into the way. Canada laughed easily and softly, turning back towards the house. They slipped inside and stripped down to their nightclothes again as quietly as they could, and made their way hand-in-hand to their bedroom. The bed was cold again, but Ukraine already felt warmer as Canada brought an arm over her side, his hand laying gently against her stomach. His chest pressed against her back through their clothes.

The wriggled into a comfortable position, bid each other good night, and settled back down to sleep.

----

A/N: Written for the new Canada/Ukraine comm on LJ, special_sight (don't mind me and my shameless plug).

So, uh, no context and no attempt at historical accuracy. Exams (and reading Robert Service poetry) do strange things to me.

Thank you for reading~!


	12. Zero to Four Percent Arable Land

There was absolutely no way Canada could get out of this one. No way. The event had been arranged by England himself, and Canada's spectacular weakness when it came to England ("Daddy's little girl," America constantly teased) was well-known amongst members of the Commonwealth and the rest of her family. It was rare that even a few of them would get together to celebrate in a formal setting, let alone all fifty-four (plus some) of them.

So, no, there was no way Canada would be able to escape this. And since the event was formal, she would not be allowed to wear her hoodie. And if she couldn't wear her hoodie it was probably because she had to wear a dress. And if she was wearing a dress, there would be a good chance that little, shy Canada would finally have all that arable land visible for the world to see. And admittedly, America was sort of looking forward to it. Not because she really wanted to see her sister's massive breasts, although that would sort of be nice, but so she could convince Canada she looked damn good with boobs to match Ukraine and India.

When Canada finally arrived, she was being escorted by New Zealand. But America hardly noticed the Kiwi, she was fixated on Canada. At least, she _thought_ it was Canada. She looked exactly like Canada, silly glasses and long hair and her too-long limbs. What baffled America was her twin's sister's complete lack of bosom. Her breasts could only be an A cup at best, perhaps a size larger if she wore a bra for a really small person, which Canada was not.

"Why're you staring at my boobs?" she asked dryly, releasing New Zealand's arm so she could cross her own.

"They're… tiny…" America said in awe.

Canada flushed self-consciously, crossing an arm over her chest. "I'm not lucky like India or Barbados."

"It's not about luck," America said, baffled that her own twin would forget that. "It's about arable land, and you've got Saskatchewan and Alberta and the Okanogan…"

"And all those arctic islands I bought from Daddy," she added, turning dark red. "No arable land there…" She glanced to the side, only to see India in a glamorous sari coming closer and glancing at Canada and the arm crossed over her chest. She blushed and looked down at her feet, starting to hunch over as if that would somehow make her go invisible.

"I thought you were hiding a huge rack under that hoodie you wear," America protested.

"I wear a bunny hug because it's comfy," Canada retorted.

"And because you have no boobs," America added softly. India burst in to save the day.

"Canada, Jamaica wants to have a word with you," she said briskly.

"Why didn't she come over here?" Canada asked, disbelieving.

"Didn't feel like it," India replied with a shrug. She lead Canada away, while America stayed behind, gaping.

"You think you know your sister, and then she tells you she's got a smaller cup size than you," she said. New Zealand chuckled.

"What's so funny, Kiwi?" America asked, snapping back to him.

"Nothing," he dismissed lightly, hiding a smile behind his hand.

----

Canada, meanwhile, was being hassled by Jamaica in the best of ways. "You have to set me up with some bobsledding tickets," she said, trying to coax Canada into giving her Olympic tickets.

"I thought you'd already gotten tickets," Canada replied, raising an eyebrow sceptically.

"Yeah, but not to the bobsledding races," she replied.

"Why the fixation on bobsledding?" Canada asked. "We don't even know if you've qualified yet."

"I know," Jamaica replied, her expression making a turn towards frustrated. "But I want to go anyways." Canada sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Fine, I'll see what I can dig up," she said. At which point Rwanda appeared, being escorted by South Africa on one side and Australia on the other.

"Hey, Jamaica," Australia said, "we're just makin' sure Wanda here--"

"Rwanda."

"--gets acquainted with her new extended family." He smiled brightly and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Rwanda was small, exceedingly so, and very beautiful. She was also well-endowed, at the same level as India and Barbados. No wonder Australia and South Africa liked her so much.

Not to be beaten, South Africa took Rwanda's arm and began introducing each of the Commonwealth members in turn. When he reached Canada, Rwanda seemed astounded.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were America," she said. Canada sighed but brushed it off, it was a remark she heard a lot (particularly when America was somewhere nearby). Then Rwanda added softly, "I thought you had a lot of farmland…" This time Canada blushed dark red. She did not feel like explaining this. She was rescued by New Zealand while America took her place.

"Why does everyone seem to know about Canada's boobs before me?" she asked, trying to be subtle and failing.

"Because she belongs to the Commonwealth of Nations and you don't. Just look at Egypt, he seems pretty surprised, too." Indeed, he did looked stunned to see the woman who'd helped him with the Suez Crisis in a dress, apparently trying to dance with New Zealand, with shockingly small breasts. He turned his gaze away very quickly, though, regaining his composure as he and Tanzania traded advice on cooking.

America turned on Jamaica, who seemed completely relaxed. "How does being in the Commonwealth of Nations mean you know about her breasts before I do?"

"Because Canada always pretties herself up for the meetings, including wearing blouses instead of her pullovers. She's 'Daddy's little girl', after all." America smirked at her mocking tone. For all Jamaica's drug trafficking and other bothersome habits, her sarcastic wit and sheer coolness made up for it when America wasn't dealing with politics. "Don't look now, but I think Tanzania wants to talk to you," she added.

Tanzania skipped up to them and took America's hand. "You've been a real sweetie for me, thanks," she said sincerely. America smiled and nodded.

"No trouble, Tanzie. So, did you know that Canada was an A cup before today?" she asked bluntly. Might as well get to the point.

"Oh, she's an A cup? I thought for sure she was a double-A," Tanzania pondered.

"You're kidding," America said. Tanzania replied that no, she wasn't, and tried to pull America into a jovial dance.

----

A/N: Why yes, another Commonwealth Family kink meme fill~

Skippable historical/cultural notes:

-There are presently fifty-four members of the Commonwealth of Nations, plus some who have left (like Ireland) and those like America and Egypt, who were never part of it but could join if they felt like it. Therefore, "plus some".  
-Hoodie, bunny hug, and pullover are all basically the same thing. Hoodies have a hood for certain, bunny hugs generally have a pouch and are really warm (Canadian slang, wutwut), and pullover is a sweater pulled over the head instead of zipped or buttoned on.  
-India has got a damn nice rack, according to the map.  
-Canadian-Kiwi relations are actually quite excellent, as both are in a situation where they've got a louder twin to deal with all the time. And, uh, basically they like each other. (New Zealand/fem!Canada or just friends? You decide.)  
-Barbados also has a fine set of breasts.  
-Saskatchewan, Alberta, and the Okanogan are all famous for growing things, of course, but America neglects to mention that good things grow in Ontario.  
-Yes, Jamaica's bobsledding team might be going to the 2010 Olympics. It will be awesome. In fact, look them up. They are so boss it's not even funny, and surprisingly good at bobsledding, to boot.  
-Rwanda recently joined the Commonwealth! Very recently, actually. And while yes, the big deal about Rwanda is the genocide that happened there, since then she's become the model "rising nation", so to speak, slowly but steadily growing in wealth and quality of life. And is drop-dead gorgeous. Even Wikipedia agrees.  
-Jamaicans are just cool. There's no debating that. However, Jamaica _is_ a country that trafficks drugs and other nasty things, so I imagine that as much as everyone is secretly gay for Jamaica and her coolness, politically they have some things against her.  
-Tanzania gets along excellently with America, partly due to the fact that Tanzania gets a lot of American aid. No mention on how she likes Canada.  
-Thank you for reading!


	13. The House on Pooh Corner

It was 1931 and Canada was nothing if not worn through. His finest suit was rather old and wasn't entirely a good fit -- he'd gained another few centimetres and it showed -- and when he spoke he was still rather hoarse. Nonetheless, he and his half-siblings were all in London to meet receive a copy of the Statute of Westminster.

As always, it was exceedingly chaotic whenever the Dominions got together, simply because they were so different. Ireland was clearly not in a good mood, although England assured them that he was doing much better than normal, Newfoundland had huffed that she didn't particularly want the statute at all, Australia and New Zealand bickered constantly, South Africa seemed isolated from the others, and Canada was constantly coughing into his handkerchief as he fought off his cold. England, it seemed, regretted inviting all six of them to stay in his house, particularly as they loosened up around each other.

The actual ceremony that gave the former colonies almost complete equality with their suzerain state was solemn but not particularly big, and when Australia spouted, "It's about time!" when he received his copy, he only received a cuff on his head for the disruption. Afterwards came the interesting parts. New Zealand fretted over the patchwork state of his constitution and the time it would take for his government to ratify the document. Newfoundland seemed downright frustrated with the document in her hands and swore on her life that she wouldn't ratify it (England had blanched when he heard her stubborn declaration). Canada refused to let it go except when absolutely necessary.

When he finally managed to get to the guestroom he was sharing with South Africa, he breathed a sigh of relief and reluctantly set the tube holding his copy of the statute on his bed. He undid his tie and removed his suit jacket, relaxing as the too-tight material slipped off. He rolled his shoulders once before retrieving his handkerchief and coughing into it loudly.

In the middle of his fit England came through the open door, a little bit on concern on his face. "Are you alright?" he asked gently. Then, of course, he seemed to realise how little tact he had in that question and attempted to rephrase it. "Should I get you some--"

"I'm fine," Canada croaked. "My throat's just dry." When England tried to say something again he continued, "Nessa said she'd bring me some tea."

"Ah, very good," he said awkwardly, standing just inside the room. His expression seemed slightly lost, as if he didn't know what to do with the Dominion. He was about to turn and leave when Newfoundland bustled in, saying, "Sorry 'm late, that contrary island b'y wouldn' know what I was sayin' if I said it to 'im in the King's English," in her rapid, distinct accent. She thrust a cup of tea at Canada and marched out of the room, fuming.

"All the tact of a fisherman's wife," England muttered. This time he did approach Canada, and sat on the other edge of his bed as the young man sipped his steaming tea.

"Nessa's been foul-tempered lately," Canada replied with a little smile. "Always angry about something."

"I noticed," England couldn't help but say, his dry tone indicating his sheer annoyance with her. Silence settled over them again quickly enough, and looking for something, anything, to distract him, England's eyes happened upon a book sitting on Canada's bedside table. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and picked it up. No doubt about it, this was one of his books.

"Canada," he said softly, "why do you have this?"

"Wha-- oh! This is, uh… One of my boys left a black bear here during the war, one named--"

"Winnipeg," England supplied. "Better known as Winnie. And one of mine wrote some books about Winnie for his son."

"Christopher Robin," Canada finished with a little smile. His cheeks were turning pink. He hadn't expected England to come into the guest room, and he certainly hadn't expected to be caught with a copy of a _Winnie-the-Pooh_ book.

"Do you mind if I read some?" England asked softly, flipping through the book. Canada said yes right away, only to find himself admonished. "Look at the state of this book. I had hoped it would be in a better state than this. Really, Matthew, is it so much trouble to take care of your books?"

"Actually," Canada replied, "I was seeing Hungary and Poland and they found it in my suitcase. They read it so many times that it started to get dog-eared." He chuckled, only for it to become a cough. When he ceased, he leaned against the headboard of the bed and settled in as England began reading.

"Chapter One," he said, "In Which We Are Introduced to Winnie-the-Pooh and Some Bees, and the Stories Begin…" As he read further from the book, the other newly-made Dominions started coming into the guest room, perhaps because it had been so long since England had read to any of them, let alone from a children's book. Australia and New Zealand sat together at England's feet, laying their heads on the mattress. South Africa had found a comfortable place at the foot of the bed and was relaxing there, while Newfoundland curled between England's back and Canada's side, playing with the ends of her dark hair.

A fair amount of time must have passed, but all together as they were, they hardly noticed. No one bothered to speak up when it had to be dinner time, and only once did any of them move, when South Africa stood and turned on the lights so that England could read better in their darkening room. About the time England read the words, "So they went on, feeling just a little anxious now, in case the three animals in front of them now were of Hostile Intent," Canada realised with a start that he didn't really consider England his father anymore. He hadn't referred to him by that title since the beginning of the World War.

If England wasn't his father, though, now Canada had the question of what England was to him. He really wasn't an authority figure to him any longer, the Statute of Westminster saw to that.

"So Winnie-the-Pooh went off to find Eeyore's tail."

Of course, Canada didn't dare consider himself completely independent from England, either. He followed British law and belonged to the newly-formed Commonwealth, and England was still one of the nations closest to him besides his brother and some of his newfound friends across the Atlantic. It was reassuring to know he still had a certain amount of closeness to the former Empire; something that didn't quite pass for a familial bond but was still warm and comforting.

"Owl lived at The Chestnuts, an old-world residence of great charm, which was grander than anybody else's, or it seemed so to Bear, because it had both a knocker _and_ a pull-bell."

And it was sitting there, England's voice and A. A. Milne's words in his mind and Newfoundland warm against his side that he came to his conclusion. The thought came to him like a bubble, perfectly formed as soon as it came into being. _I'm in love with England,_ he thought to himself. And he smiled softly to no one in particular and wriggled into a more comfortable position, his head on his sister's shoulder, as he listened to England continue.

"…for Owl, wise though he was in many ways, able to read and write and spell his own name WOL, yet somehow went all to pieces over delicate words like MEASLES and BUTTERED TOAST…"

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A/N: Written for the kink meme prompt "when Canada realised he was in love with England".

Skippable historical/cultural notes:

-The title is taken from the name of one of A. A. Milne's Winnie-the-Pooh books.  
-Canada was still really dealing with the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl when he was made equal to Britain. What a rough time to go mostly alone into the world, huh?  
-Ireland, er, doesn't appear much besides at the opening because of the fact the other Dominions were more like kids than siblings to England. I imagine he left ASAP after the ceremony.  
-Yes, New Zealand had a constitution even more patchwork than Canada's. As difficult as that is, it is indeed possible. It made it very hard to ratify the Statute and took a while. Took a while for Australia, too.  
-Nope, Newfoundland never did ratify the Statute, and England was starting to want to get rid of her. For real. Speaking of Newfoundland, I hope I got the accent right.  
-Poland and Hungary both really dig Winnie-the-Pooh. For serious. Both have streets named for the famous bear.  
-Quotes taken from the Google book version of Winnie-the-Pooh, spelling, capitals, and italics preserved to the best of my abilities.  
-Thank you for reading!


End file.
